


Ready?

by ElfyDwarf



Series: The Sporting Section [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Divers AU, Divers on board, Established Relationship, Fluff, Language, M/M, One Shot, olympic au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfyDwarf/pseuds/ElfyDwarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milkovich and Gallagher compete for the bronze medal in Men's Synchronized Diving, 10m. In tiny, tiny Speedos. </p><p>This is a one shot, entirely short and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready?

**Author's Note:**

> So, you know me and my addiction to sports AUs. This time it's a sweet one shot for the fun of it, not smut, just some nice feels, because men in speedos doing synch diving is just... yep. What a visual! And a happy Mickey is a must have these days, no? And reassuring Ian is nice too :} Enjoy :}

 

Mickey surfaced and swore, loud and clear like a bell in the pool hall.

“Again?!” Ian bubbled as he climbed out of the pool, scowling at the roof because _what the fuck now?_

Mickey whipped around so fast he was at risk of slipping on his pale ass, “The fuck you mean, _again_? Oh, like, we do that again because fuckin' too right we're gonna do that again! Or did you mean my cursing your lanky-as-fuck ass out?”

Ian groaned and approached the boards, trying diligently not to stare at Mickey's stupidly bubbled backside in those ridiculously tiny speedos they had to wear. Goddamn Olympic attire. “What did I do this time?” he asked, knowing it was something tiny, pretty much infinitesimal, that Mickey had taken to loathing. It wasn't like he was actively trying to piss his team mate off, but it was happening and Mickey was in a foul mood. Normally he was gruff, but today? It was like he was the biggest critic going, no matter what Ian did, it was off or wrong or not tight enough.

“Your pike isn't tight,” Mickey grumbled as they approached the middle deck, still climbing carefully with wet feet.

“Like you can fucking see!”

“I can fit a damn car between your chest and knees, shithead,” Mickey narrowed his eyes dangerously as he got onto the ten metre platform and wiped himself off with a towel. He glanced over and then back at Ian, eyes near slits now. “Tuck it the fuck in or I'm gonna rail your ass until you do, aching backs and 3am quits be fuckin' damned, asshole,” he threatened, turning his back on his tall dive partner.

Ian raised an eyebrow and rubbed his thighs down; as if that threat was going to make him work any harder. “I'm tighter than you,” Ian spat back and Mickey went stiff, turning from his view of the disgustingly high drop to pin Ian with an incredulous stare.

“That right, sparky?” Mickey said dangerously sweet, like he couldn't believe that had just come out of Ian's mouth. “Wanna wager?”

“Stakes?” Ian said with a nod, dropping his towel with a bit more heat than needed; it went over the side and their coaches squawked something from below. Mickey thumbed his lip slowly, on purpose, with everything he had because Ian couldn't look away, not for a second and he'd happily go to hell and admit he wanted to bite that mouth if Mickey dared to ask.

“You nail this next back pike,” Mickey walked a little closer, licking over his lip because he knew, he always fucking knew, “You got yourself a practical on how tight I am. You don't? Consider yourself best friends with Pamela and her fives sisters for two weeks,” he put up his hand and wiggled his fingers. Ah. “I'm serious, Ian, we can't fuck this up.”

“A'ight,” Ian bobbed his head and pursed his mouth; in dive-mode, they weren't a couple and it was crystal clear who called the shots on the boards and in competition, so the idea of fucking Mickey wasn't new or taboo, but it never failed to pull his best out of him, that treat. It made it all seem so much more sinful and dangerous up high on board, with the world blocked out and Mickey soaking wet and in teeny, tiny speedos. Much as Pam did the job, it wasn't connective or comforting and living with _that_ image wandering around in his tight boxers on purpose was going to drive him crackers.

“On the edge,” Mickey snapped and Ian near skipped to it, mindful that one slip really would end him. He knew to push hard into these jumps unlike on the springboards where Mickey had to push harder in order to keep completely parallel to Ian's size, go up higher, but up here on the flat, he had to lessen the push his thighs gave so he went down ahead of Ian. He took a deep breath and gave a nod, Ian following his outstretched arms and standing on the lip backwards, nothing but their toes keeping them from falling. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered clearly, staring straight at the girder of the wall. His heart was beating like mad and Mickey looked as stony as he could, ever concealing his fears.

“On three,” Mickey stated, counted them off and a beat after three, they both bent and pushed down into their feet and pushed off, up and back, bending completely in half so there was not a breath of air between their legs and trunks before straightening out and bracing to break the rapidly approaching water. Ian always curled under himself and spread his legs when he was in the water so he could keep his swimwear from ripping off. Mickey always curled and began to swim; as powerful a diver he was, he was frightened of drowning, and much as the chlorine burned Ian's eyes, he always gave a quick scan to make sure Mickey was swimming to the edge before he would push up to the surface.

As he climbed out and wiped water from his face, Mickey couldn't help but grin to himself as Ian broke water and started swimming; sex always worked. Ian's pike had been so tight and so synchronised that Mickey felt less inclined to worry about not making the cut in a few days.

“That was the best of the day, I think,” yelled one coach. Mickey wasn't sure if it was his or Ian's but he didn't care, watching Ian doing breaststroke was more important. He was going to claw that back right up.

“You can go,” that was definitely Ian's coach. “Done enough. Any more bitching and body throwing and you'll end up with one of you broken or fucking crying or some shit. Don't need any more for today, OK?” they were leaving, it seemed. Mickey nodded and waved as Ian hauled his body out of the pool and sat on the edge, pushing his mop of red hair from his face.

“End game?” he asked. Mickey winked and nodded.

“End game, Gallagher,” Mickey drawled, walking towards the wall of showers.

Gallagher? “Oh, like that is it, _Milkovich_?” Ian quipped, following.

Mickey hit the button with his back and thumbed his hipbones, pretending to tug his speedos back up a bit but he wasn't, it was all about catching the eye. Might as well have just pointed at his dick for all the staring it got him. “Problem with that?”

“No,” Ian mused, going to the far end of the line, acting like he wasn't bothered. Those swim-trunks sure said different. As if they put him in tiny ones too, Christ. It was a feat and a half trying to keep his focus with Ian parading around like some fucking model with a bulge big enough, you could see the swell on the other side of the pool with him up on the top of the board. Fucker. But, Mickey couldn't mind too much, he was all his after all. “Long as you remember my name,” he piped after a moment, “'Cause you're gonna fucking wail it later.”

 

–

 

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Mickey hissed as they waited on the stairs that led up to the top board. Ian nudged him with his hip and hoped his presence was enough. He knew it wasn't, but he could hope. The men's synchronised finals was nothing short of terrifying in any kind of competitive event, let alone the Olympics. They were last in rotation and this was their last dive of the day and they needed to have it spot on in order to have any kind of chance at taking a bronze home. Having China as their rival dive team always had every other team knowing they weren't taking a gold, ever, but maybe silver or bronze. That was what they were fighting for, in all, but if they didn't get enough points, then they'd go home empty handed. The way Ian saw it, if they finished in fourth then that was something to be proud of. Mickey though, Mickey wanted metal and he would be extremely disappointed if they flunked. Ian knew it was down to his stupid piking that they had lost out on a few points but, he was going to do his best with this dive, even if it was to stop his partner from free-falling into bone deep disappointment. He didn't want to see him upset. Pissed off was all right, but upset? No, Ian hated that more than anything.

“It'll be OK,” Ian tried to soothe as Great Britain hit the water and they were allowed to approach the deck. “Just... _try_ to forget where we are. We are just diving at home, no crowds, no pressure, just me and you doing what we do best, yeah? We got this.”

Mickey licked his lip and took a deep breath, eyeing Ian for a moment as he placed his towel and shook out his arms and legs a bit, “Easier said than done. USA haven't won shit for a while.”

Ian smiled, “So let's change that. We've done really well so far-”

“I hit the water at an angle!”

“-and we're gonna smash this,” Ian finished, forcefully. So Mickey hadn't gone in vertically last time but the rotations had taken him down faster but, apart from him not being rod straight on entry, their synchronisation had been perfect even with the rotations and their size difference.

“Just you and me, huh?” Mickey breathed, so nervous he felt sick, as the buzzer went off and they fell into step, turning so they were backwards.

Mickey put his arms out and Ian overlapped his with Mickey's in the middle as they usually did, ready to move as soon as he felt the barest flinch of movement, the tap of Mickey's middle finger to signal go. “Just you and me,” he said firmly, looking ahead and tip-toed on the edge of the deck, nothing but their toes keeping them from falling. He was ever aware of the cameras and the fact that they were blown up on the LED screen for all to see in their barely-covering-anything USA speedos, so he spoke without moving his mouth, “Ready when you are.”

Mickey made a sound and took a breath, “Ready?” he called out and Ian affirmed he was again. “On three. One. Two. Three, jump!” Mickey's finger tapped and Ian pushed down to his feet and went into autopilot, Mickey forcing himself up and back into a triple twist with a pike finish, breaking the water and diligently keeping his toes pointed until he felt the pool envelope all of his body. Was it enough though? He wouldn't know until he got the fuck out of this death trap and into the heated pool to hide himself up to his nose. Ian was following him out of the water, sweeping his red mop back from his head with a blank expression. Mickey didn't even bother to push his hair away from his face; more cover if they had failed.

“China have gold,” Ian was saying, though Mickey was up to his ears in the warm water, trying to look at the bubbles to stop himself from shaking out of his skin with nerves. What were they waiting for, huh, for the pools to freeze before they let out their score? “Mexico have silv- _Yes_ , Mickey, Mickey we got it! We got it! We got it!” Ian was yelling, jumping into the water with an enormous splash as the crowd started cheering, Mickey being crushed in a slippery hug with Ian's laughter ringing in his ears.

“What?”

“We got six more than GB! We got bronze, Mick, fucking bronze!” Ian's cursing was being drowned in bubbles and Mickey's fierce grip around his neck, pulling him close so he could stuff his face in Ian's neck. There it was, up on the screen, clear as day. _3_ _Rd_ _: Mickey Milkovich/Ian Gallagher of USA._

“Goddamnit!” Mickey cursed, laughing and ragging Ian about with excitement, shoving him away and then pulling him back for the hell of it, so mindful of the cameras that his genuine and passionate _I fuckin' love you, you pike-fuckin' idiot_ wasn't seen or heard as he was buried in wet skin and Ian's gangly limbs kicking up too much water. He got a kiss to his neck and another loud laugh, Ian fist pumping at a camera. Their team were running over, their coaches getting into the pool without a care for whatever was in their pockets, too busy swearing and yelling while all others cheered.

“Perfect partnership!” Ian's coach bellowed, ruffing Mickey's hair and smacking Ian's back so hard he left hand prints.

“Yeah, we are!” Ian agreed, looking at Mickey, his gaze nowhere else and nowhere near co-sure; it was so loving and open that Mickey nearly shrank under it. _Love you_ , he mouthed, _you and me, end game?_

 _End game_ , Mickey sent back with a nod, high-fiving him as a camera came rolling past with it's recording light on. He didn't know why he'd worried so much because when push came to shove, Ian always came out with his guns packed and his back straight, always at Mickey's side, his best brought out only for his partner. _Gold_ couldn't match that.

 


End file.
